A False Case of the Flu
by DuckofIndeed
Summary: During a visit to Yule, Swaine decides to fake being sick to avoid having to go out into the cold, but things don't turn out at all like he planned. And does Mr. Drippy know more than he's letting on?


I've been meaning to write some Ni no Kuni fan fiction for quite some time now, and seeing as I have just reached nearly the end of the game, I decided I could wait no longer. I wanted to try my hand at writing Mr. Drippy's dialogue, and I ended up with this goofy, little tale. Sorry, Swaine, I wrote this story for Mr. Drippy more than for you.

By the way, there is a spoiler involving Swaine, so, yeah. Beware. And every single thing mentioned in this story is property of Level 5 and those kinds of people, en't it?

* * *

 **A False Case of the Flu**

You knew it was cold when you had to wear a parka, three pairs of socks, and your boots (which were feeling pretty tight at that point) and were still at risk of frostbite. And that was only what Swaine wore to _bed_.

It was yet another morning at the Cat's Cradle in Yule, and another morning he refrained from asking why they were still stuck sharing a room after all the guilders Oliver had accumulated on their journey. They might _need_ it, the kid had said. As if they didn't _need_ to invest in more than one room for four people so Swaine could get a proper night's rest without listening to Mr. Lord High Lord of the Fairies yammer on in his sleep all night.

As his travelling companions began their morning preparations, he found that he was unable to coax himself out of bed, but merely continued to lay on his stomach with about as much life as a cadaver as they chattered behind him about the day's objectives. Leave it to mister and miss goody-two-shoes to devote an entire day to running errands for people, courtesy of the Swift Solutions Errand Board, the very reason Oliver was loaded with more money than he knew what to do with. Literally.

When Swaine had taken to stealing to get by, he clearly wasn't aware that restoring a grimalkin's lack of…what was it, responsibility was a far more effective way to make a living.

Honestly, who bloody knew?

But if they thought they were going to drag him out of bed just so they could trudge through waist-high snow and hunt down that old codger's missing journal for the twentieth time, they had another thing coming.

Heck, Shadar was out there, and they were wasting time…

Oh, forget it.

"Swaine, have you seen my second pair of socks?" Esther asked, and he groaned at this acknowledgment of his existence. "I packed an extra pair in case I needed it, but they're no longer on my night table."

"Those were yours…eh, I mean…" Swaine forced himself to roll over so he could more easily sit upright and proceeded to rub the sleep from his eyes. "No, I haven't seen your socks. Why don't you ask Drippy? He seemed to be eyeing them last night."

The fairy jumped into the air, arms flailing at this accusation. "Oh, I see how it is! Just 'cos I'm a fairy, you assume _I'm_ the one who nicked her socks! Proper prejudiced, that's what that is! I bet this is just like the time you claimed I was to blame for all the snoring up in here, en't it?"

"Well, it wasn't _me_!"

"So, let me get this straight. What you're saying is," Esther crossed her arms, "that since you're of royal blood, you couldn't _possibly_ be the one responsible for the snoring." She flashed a smirk before turning away to take up braiding her hair in the mirror.

"Where'd you get all that from 'it wasn't me'? And how could I have _possibly_ been the one snoring if I heard it, too?"

"I was only joking. Just drop it, okay?"

"The only reason I didn't hear it was 'cos I sleep like a log," Mr. Drippy said as he paused in the act of brushing his teeth. "There's lucky for you. Spares me the fate of having to listen to Swaine's schnoz."

The man sighed as he took note of Oliver's absence from the room, the one person who didn't feel the need to gang up on him. Even as the other two went about completing their morning routines and packing provisions, however, Swaine remained where he was. It was only when Esther was zipping up her parka that her attention fell on her comrade's apparent apathy.

"Hey, Swaine, aren't you going to get ready? We're heading out soon."

"I'm already dressed, aren't I?"

"Well, it wouldn't kill you to at least brush your hair, you know. Or shave."

"Didn't you know a little facial hair is the mark of a true adventurer?"

Mr. Drippy scoffed. "If that was so, I'd have a full-on bushy beard by now, wouldn't I?" The fairy made a wide sweep of his arm as he headed for the door. "Let's get goin'! Time's a-wastin'!"

Swaine rolled his eyes, but before he had a chance to follow, his gaze fell on the snow-rimmed window and the myriad of snowflakes drifting down to join their brethren. He shivered.

"You know, on second thought," the thief began, "I think," he sniffed, "I might be coming down with something. Maybe I should stay behind for the day." He gave a nervous chuckle when he caught Esther watching him with both eyebrows raised as high as they would go. "I mean, the more I rest _now_ , the quicker I'll get better, and… I'd hate to be sick when we reach the Glittering Grotto. Right?"

The young woman squinted at him, and he leaned away as she stepped forward to inspect him more closely. "You look fine to me."

"Oh, yes, I'm…sure I look fine _now_ , but believe me, I know when I have a cold coming on, and…" he coughed into his hand, "I _definitely_ have a cold coming on. It might be the flu, even."

Swaine winced as Esther's expression darkened, and she completed the look by planting her fists on her hips. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak a single word, he was saved from her wrath (a woman scorned, indeed; ha, it was just women in general…) when Oliver burst into the room.

"Hey, you guys, they've got hot cocoa downstairs!" The boy was nearly jumping up and down in his excitement.

"Might have to save that for later, Ollie-boy," Mr. Drippy said. "We've got work to do and all that. It'll be something to look forward to for when we get back, en't it?"

Oliver's movements ceased, and though his smile wavered, it soon returned with nearly as much strength as before. "I guess you're right, Mr. Drippy. Is everyone ready?"

"Just one thing," Esther began, "Swaine says he might be coming down with a cold, so he's going to stay here today." She turned a frown in the man's direction, and he looked away to cough into his hand again.

"Oh, well, I hope you feel better soon, Swaine," Oliver said.

"It's probably for the best anyway," Mr. Drippy said as they left the room. " _Someone's_ been a tad touchy this morning. Sleep-deprived from all his snoring, I'd be willing to bet."

* * *

As awkward as his little, white lie might have been, Swaine couldn't say that the feeling lasted, for it wasn't long after his companions had left that he risked a short trip downstairs to retrieve a cup of the rumored cocoa Oliver had been so excited about. Yes, it already looked as if today was shaping up to be a well-deserved (as far as he was concerned, and who else's opinion mattered, really) escape from endless traveling and fighting and sleeping outdoors when an inn couldn't be found. It wasn't terribly different from his life prior to meeting his new companions, to be honest, but at least back then he didn't have Esther around to complain about his habit of wearing the same clothes for weeks on end.

Now this was the life. Lounging in an armchair, drinking hot cocoa fresh from the stove by a crackling fireplace. Not a care in the world. Not until his friends returned at least, but he might as well enjoy this rare place while it lasted.

And it didn't last long.

He looked over as the door creaked open, coupled with a voice that identified the intruder before Swaine could see him.

"Oi, sleepyhead, how's it, then? You still feeling under the weather?"

Swaine tugged the blankets from the nearest bed and wrapped them about himself to perpetuate the most pitiful look he could muster before Mr. Drippy emerged into view. "What are _you_ doing back so early? I mean," he coughed, "I wouldn't want you to catch anything. I'm sure," he coughed again, "I'm sure I'm contagious."

The fairy waved him off with a flip of his hand. "Nonsense, mun, I wouldn't worry yourer head about it. Us fairies can't catch human germs, and vice versa. And besides, I'm fit as a fiddle. You couldn't make me sick if you tried. Anyway, the reason why I'm here is because Esther wanted me to check up on you, like. I know she didn't look it, but she was proper worried about you. People _die_ from illness in these parts. Not that I think you're gonna die or anything. Not with Drippy, Lord High Lord of the Fairies, about. All I gotta do is say, "no way, mun," and sickness just turns tail and runs the other way, it does."

The thief sighed. "Does it now? And why do I have the feeling that what Esther's _really_ after is using you to see if I'm actually sick?" He devolved into a fit of coughing for good measure.

"Nah, mun, Esther's not as harsh as you think," the fairy climbed up to sit on the now empty bed, "I mean, she _did_ think you were a dishonest so and so at first, but I used my powers of persuasion to ease her doubts." He paused, and Swaine followed his gaze to the mug of hot cocoa he had left on the mantle in his hurry to retrieve the blankets.

"That's tea," he said, jerking his head in the direction of the beverage in question, "Uh, herbal…stuff."

Mr. Drippy nodded. "Good to hear you've been taking care of yourerself while I was away."

Swaine's gaze darted from side to side as the fairy leaned back on his hands and kicked his short legs, looking quite at home on his new perch. "So…I think I'm good. I wouldn't want to hold you up."

His companion shook his head, causing his lantern to toss from side to side. "What are friends for? I don't mind at all. Maybe _Esther_ didn't believe you at first, but I knew you were sick the moment I laid eyes on you. Why, first thing this morning, I was struck with how grave you looked. Yellow skin, sunken and glassy eyes. Aye, mun, you are the picture of disease if I ever saw it."

" _Excuse_ me? My eyes are not—"

"And it got my noodle thinking," the fairy tapped the side of his head, "you've had this very look about you since the day we met. I mean, look at you, proper scrawny. You might have been ill longer than we flippin' knew, en't it?"

Swaine extricated one hand from the blankets to shake it at the fairy. "Wait a minute! I'm not-I have _not_ been ill all this time! I've been perfectly fine up until now!"

"Oh, that's what yourer mouth says, but it's not what yourer eyes tell me. Call it fairy intuition. Why, I'm just impressed you didn't speak up sooner. I always took you as the weak-willed type, but I take it all back, mun. Now there's courage."

Swaine gritted his teeth as the fairy slid himself towards the center of the bed and proceeded to make the equivalent of snow angels. "To think, I've been so lost in the beauty of this place," Mr. Drippy continued, "I've been spending my time looking up at the aurora and making snow fairies, it didn't even occur to me that one of my newest buds was ill, maybe terminally so. What would my mam think?"

"Seriously," Swaine took a deep breath as he attempted to force some semblance of calm into his voice, "I'm fine. It's just…it's just a cold. A little runny nose and some coughing, and I'll be fine. So there's really no need to watch over me."

His companion rolled over onto his stomach in a decidedly lazy fashion and tucked his arms beneath his chin. "It makes a fairy proud to see someone so brave about the whole thing. We don't have to talk about it any further if you'd rather not, mun."

" _Perfect_ —"

"Right, so, I know a story that'll cheer you up somethin' proper. Once, several years back, I got a right bad cold. I was sniffin' and sneezin' so hard, I thought my lantern would fly clean off. I once sneezed on a littlie so bad, he got thrown clear across the Fairygrounds, he did. He was fine, though. Just a few bumps and bruises, but otherwise, right as rain. Anyway, I was _so_ sick, in fact, Drippy wasn't just my name anymore. Nah, mun, you should've _seen_ the state of my lantern. I was leakin' like a broken faucet in a rainstorm. It was a proper mess. Why, my lantern even up and went out and everything—"

Swaine looked on in horror as the fairy told his tale, and he could feel an undeniable queasiness coming on. Frankly, he didn't think he had any sort of appetite left for the cocoa he had left cooling on the mantle. When his mere expression alone wasn't enough to still his companion's tongue, he had no choice but to voice his reservations aloud. "Look, I _really_ don't want to hear this—"

Mr. Drippy sprang up to a sitting position, his arms already gesturing in anticipation of his next words. "And I bet you'll find this next one _really_ shocking!"

Swaine slumped in his seat with a cry of despair that seemed to have been completely lost on the fairy.

"Even my ol' mam got a bad case of the flu once," the fairy went on. "You wouldn't expect a tiny germ to affect her, but she was uprootin' trees and even knocked down the bridge with all the fuss she was making. I bet her sneezes could be heard clear across the ocean, they were so loud. And to make matters worse, she developed such a high fever, the littlies had to come out early!"

The thief buried his face in his hands and uttered a muffled, "Please, _anything_ but this!"

"I know, that's what _I_ thought! They had been born so early, even little was overdoing it. They were proper tiny. Why, I couldn't go a day without almost stepping on a few. Of course, they all had to go back in once she got better."

"Of _course_ , they did!" Swaine's voice had risen to a squeak, "Because that actually _happens_!"

Mr. Drippy gave a sagely nod. "It was a flippin' fiasco, it was, but at least it turned out all right in the end. That's why a positive attitude can make all the difference in the world, en't it? I knew things would work out, and they did. But, I don't need to tell _you_ that."

Swaine rubbed his forehead to ward off an impending headache. "You don't need to tell me _anything_. A little peace and quiet goes a long way, you know."

"You're not wrong, mun. I'll just give you some space, and you get all the rest you need." With that, the fairy dropped to the floor and headed for the door.

Swaine's head hit the back of the seat as he breathed a relieved sigh. Perhaps not all was lost. It was still early, and surely his companions wouldn't be returning for some while longer. He was sure he could convince the innkeeper to make him a fresh cup of cocoa. He could be quite charming when he put his mind to it, though he would never voice that thought aloud ever again. Esther had nearly choked on her sandwich at this statement.

He stared in silence at the ceiling as he waited for the fairy to make his exit, but when he was not greeted with the welcome creak of a closing door, he peered around the side of his armchair with one eyebrow raised in suspicion. His doubts were confirmed when he spotted Mr. Drippy sitting on the edge of the bed most distant from him, facing the door like a lantern-bearing sentinel.

The thief leaned further around the side of his seat to ensure his words were granted their maximum effect. "What in bloody blazes are you still _doing_ here?" Detecting a strength in his voice not befitting one suffering such a dire infirmity as he apparently was, he ended his question by coughing and hacking for all he was worth. There was no changing the fairy's mind at this point, so he might as well perpetuate the myth. He didn't fancy the notion that his fabricated illness was of a fatal variety, but pretending didn't make it true. Right?

Mr. Drippy turned to look at him, and his lantern swayed on the end of his long nose. "I'm watchin' the door to make sure no one bothers you. Don't worry, mun, I may be small, but I'm fierce for my size. No one's gettin' through that door without a proper tussle."

Swaine huffed and looked away. So much for a relaxing break from the snow. He should've known this was how the day was going to turn out. If it was possible to be brokenhearted for lack of luck, that was one ailment he truly _was_ suffering from.

Chancing another peek at his unwanted companion, who continued to maintain his vigil over the door, Swaine retrieved the cocoa from the mantle and stared into its depths in sullen consideration. The steam had all but disappeared, but perhaps it hadn't gone completely cold yet. He braved a tentative sip and had to refrain from spitting it back out again when he found it had been reduced to chocolate-flavored ice water.

"You want me to get you some more tea, mun?"

Swaine jumped in his seat with a barely suppressed yelp, spilling half of what remained of his ruined cocoa in the process, the only advantage he could think of for hot cocoa to be the opposite of hot. He got to wiping the cocoa up with one of his blankets as he turned an unamused stare in the fairy's direction. " _What_?"

"More tea, mun? Or perhaps you'd like me to get you some more blankets. If there's one thing us fairies are known for besides our hilarious sense of humor, it's our hospitality."

"No, I'm _fine_!"

"Or I could fluff up some pillows for you. I'm a proper professional when it comes to pillow fluffing. I won the Fairyground Championship one year, I did. The annual Goose Down Throwdown. There was some fierce competition that year, but no one stood a chance against my secret technique. I even won myself a year's supply of chicken samosas. They even _look_ a bit like pillows, en't it? There's ironic _and_ delicious."

"That's very nice, but I'm perfectly fine. I don't need anything. _Really_. All I'd like right now is to be left alone. All right? Is that too much to ask?"

The fairy nodded. "Sure thing, mun," he said and remained right where he was.

Swaine sat back in defeat. "I'm a prisoner," he muttered to no one in particular. And no one would even care if they knew.

* * *

"-and I never looked at preserves the same way ever again. Only jams and jellies for me from now on. You'd be shocked to find out what's in yourer favorite foods, en't it? Even so, how the toenail got in there, I'll never- What's the matter, mun? If you're gonna be sick, let me know, and I'll fetch a bucket."

Several hours had passed since Oliver and Esther had left Swaine to his own personal torment. Today, he had learned several important things, namely that he only had a few months left to live, based on Mr. Drippy's prognosis after finding that the thief couldn't sneeze with his eyes open. He also learned that the fairy could, though the details of _that_ little freak show required a horrifying tale all its own. He also learned that he really missed Oliver at this point. And Esther.

He was also never eating preserves again.

He never got a refill on his cocoa, but was instead brought an herbal tea that tasted like feet, and the sheer number of blankets the fairy had piled atop him was threatening to suffocate him. He hadn't been so hot since Al Mamoon.

Mr. Drippy _was_ quite skilled at fluffing pillows, however, but that was beside the point.

And he was just considering announcing that the fairy's treatment of him had brought about a complete and miraculous recovery when Mr. Drippy interrupted him with his most terrifying revelation yet.

"Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention it earlier, but I took it upon myself to contact a tomte that lives up by here that's quite skilled at those so-called herbal remedies. She's got this herbal paste that works wonders. Chockfull of vitamins, it is, and she rubs it on your chest… Healed me right up when _I_ was sick…well, you know the story."

It took Swaine several seconds to fully process the fairy's words, but when he did, he began to struggle in the mass of blankets he had become entangled in with a desperation that only ensnared him more. With a good deal more flailing, and a few prayers, he managed at last to free himself and jump to his feet.

"You know what, I'm actually feeling great now. I think it was all just something I ate yesterday. And I—"

"Nah, mun, you shouldn't be up in yourer condition. You should be in bed, all proper cozy like."

Swaine waved his hands in front of himself in a desperate effort to repel the fairy's approach. "Seriously, I'm…okay, to tell you the complete and honest truth, it was all just a joke! I'm fine, I just didn't feel like going out in the cold again today. All right? So…I'll just be going now, thank you very much!" As soon as this confession had left his lips, he attempted to sidle by, but he didn't get very far before Mr. Drippy dashed into his path with a frightening degree of agility and held his arms out wide from his sides.

"You don't have to put on a brave face on my account, mun! Why, it's clear as day, how you're rantin' and ravin' about like a proper loon, that you're ailin'! So just sit tight and relax. She said she'd drop by just as soon as she finished with her other patients."

On the verge of resorting to actually _leaping_ over the one blocking his escape, Swaine yelped and fell into the wall behind him at a soft knock on the door. "Who is it? Never mind, just…please, don't answer that!"

The thief retreated into the corner as Mr. Drippy skipped to the door. "Ah, she's here at last! Come in, it's unlocked!"

Swaine shrunk back, as if he believed it possible to absorb into the wall if he put enough effort into it, as the door opened to reveal a large, female tomte who filled the entire doorway with her shaggy bulk.

He really _was_ the unluckiest man alive.

"I am being ready now," she said in a cheery voice. "Very thank you for waiting."

* * *

It was just past noon, and Oliver and Esther had already accomplished far more than they had planned on. Maybe they were in good spirits thanks to the promise of hot cocoa. Maybe two people just worked better together than four. Whatever the case, Esther had to admit that getting a break from Swaine's complaints that he was getting too old for trekking out in the snow, when he couldn't have been older than thirty, was welcome.

They had just arrived back in Yule when Mr. Drippy came hopping through the fresh snow to greet them.

"So," she said, "what'd you find out?"

The fairy grinned up at her with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, he's a lyin' so and so, all right, just as you suspected. He admitted to the whole flippin' thing proper hasty like. I told you my finely honed detective skills never fail. There's tidy!"

"So, he _wasn't_ really sick?" Oliver asked with knitted brows.

Esther shook her head, as much from exasperation as reply. "So, tell us, how'd you got him to confess?"

Mr. Drippy folded his arms behind his back. "About that…" He turned a cryptic gaze in the direction of the Cat's Cradle. "You don't wanna know."

* * *

The moral of this story: don't pretend to be sick, or Mr. Drippy will get you. And heck, mun, did you know a grimalkin is a real thing? At least, my spell check had no problem with it.

Anyway, I had a lot of fun with this story, and I really enjoyed writing Mr. Drippy's dialogue. I hope I got it right. As fun as it is, it's rather tiring, too. And I just think it's funny in games when we spend time on silly side quests when the world's in danger. Plus, the habit of gamers to hoard money and items is also amusing, so I decided to include some mention of that silliness, as well.

Please leave a review, my dears. Because they're neato.


End file.
